Civil Monsters
by Donna Noble
Summary: Cheetor, Depth Charge and Rampage were out numbered, disadvantaged, and more dangerous than the Predicons could have guessed. However, stopping Megatron and rescuing the Maximals will all be rather pointless if they killed eachother in the process...
1. Wonderful Day

I don't own Transformers, Beast Wars, or the occasional odd quote that may-or-may-not pop up. Just wanted to establish that.

Alright, my first attempt at anything substance. This is mostly just me experimenting with writing style and character interaction; lots of random little details will be cropping up throughout the story for no other reason than to build up so back ground for characters/places, and lots of juggling to try and keep characters in character. I just want to see how I pull it off. Lots of introspective concepts will be touch upon at some point, so please try to keep an open mind.

Constructive criticism more than welcome; I'm trying to in prove here, so feedback is awesome. Maybe some kind people will even offer up their own take on certain concepts and characters; I really love to know what people think.

Now, time to watch Donna's story-telling skills desert her. Enjoy!

Edit: Thank you, Chimeronette, for helping me fix Rhinox's name.

* * *

**Chapter One: Wonderful Day**

"Count your smiles instead of your tears; Count your courage instead of your fears.**"**

~_Anonymous_

* * *

_His jaws closed on the animal's throat and he immediately tasted blood. Using his weight, all forced on that one point, he twisted and heaved. Fighting him, the buck over balanced and came down. It tried to kick him but thrashing hooves couldn't reach. Its eyes were wild with terror and froth was gathering around its muzzle._

_It arched and emitted a soft, mellow bleat, accepting its death, before slumping and stilling._

_He released his hold on it and sat back calming, waiting._

_The tall swamp-grasses rustled as something large rose from the mire, water dripping off the much larger frame. Their optics met, red and green._

"_Curious," murmured the swamp-dwelling beastie, "that, in this place, monsters meet like civilized creatures… And, so called, 'civilized' creatures become monsters. "_

_There was a mechanical '_click'_ to the left. His head swung around and he came he found a barbed mace pointed at his nose. A larger mech, maybe twice his size, was holding the weapon, face twisted into a grimace of fury and scorn._

_The swamp creature chuckled. "Curious," he said, "very curious."_

_Unable to face the snarling mech any longer, he turned back to the swamp-beast._

"_Civil monsters or monstrous mechs; it seems there are not many choices for creatures like us," he continued, "Which are you, Kitty?"_

_He wavered, unsure how to respond._

_He could still taste blood. Breathing was hard._

"_Kitty cat?"_

_Suddenly, he knew what was happening._

"_Tabby?"_

_He was dreaming._

"_Tabby!_"

Cheetor gasped and shot up.

His room, thank _Primus_; his bunk, his data pads, his effects. The familiarity offered him a sudden rush of comfort. He drew in on himself, shuttering, bringing his hands to his face—

Cheetor caught a glimpse of his twisted, claw-tipped, dark hands, and brought them to his chest instead. His new body was impressive, strong and frightening; it still seemed alien and malicious, even to him.

"Tabby?"

Blackarachnia's voice was low and soothing.

He jumped.

"'Arachnia?" Cheetor grunted, and winced when he heard how hoarse and scratchy his voice was. His pride caught up with him; Cheetor straightened up and turned to face her, debating whether or not he should stand up.

He reset his vocal-module and tried again, "What are you doing here?"

She folded her arms below her curved torso-plate, and eyed him warily. "Your shift's up next, kitty," she replied, "You said to wake you up half a megacycle before, remember?"

He had said that; he remembered.

He reset his vocal-module.

"Thanks, 'Arachnia," said Cheetor. He swung his feet off the berth and set them on the cold floor, and shivered. He tried to tell himself it was the chill.

The femme was still watching him, optics thoughtful, faceplate cool, and, in a surprisingly warm voice, she asked, "Are you okay, kid?"

Cheetor blinked, expression slack with shock and curiosity; had he just heard her right? She was asking if _he_ was okay?

Cheetor had tried to get her attention for so long and, now that he had it, he had no idea how to react. "I'm—I'm fine!" he stuttered. He could feel the heat rising in his faceplate. Cheetor hastily stood up, putting him a head over her shorter frame. "I-I should… you know… get going… Thanks for waking me up," he added quickly, not wanting her to think him ungrateful.

She didn't look convinced, lip components pursed, black optics narrow.

He fidgeted.

"Alight," she replied evenly, "If you say so. Now, get going, Tabby."

"Yeah… b-bye," he said, skirting around her and out the door.

Never mind that it was his room, Cheetor was glad for the excuse to get away; the last thing he needed was t be stuck in close-confines with Blackarachnia, especially after her rejection of him and the awkwardness his feelings had caused between him and her and Silverbolt.

The thought alone made him uncomfortable.

He went straight for the galley, a roofless, lean-to structure set up near the control centre, intent on getting some energon before he went on patrol. It was was dark, of course, and empty of mechs. Cheetor didn't bother with the lamps; his transmetal II… 'upgrade'… had effected all of his systems, night vision included, rendering the lights unnecessary.

He rooted around in one of the cupboards and pulled out a cup. Since the Axalon's destruction, the Maximals had been left with nothing to create cubes for their energon. Now they were using cup made from scrap metal salvaged from the wreck. They were sturdy, if rough, and all around the same size. The cup he had was large enough it could have fit comfortably in one of Depth Charge's massive hands; he had to hold it with both of his, long fingers splayed.

For a moment he just stared at his hands; they were slender, his tapered fingers were disproportionately long, and crafted form a dark, seamless organic-alloy. They were deceptively fragile-looking; much stronger than he was used to, he had accidently crushed one of Rhinox's hands in a panic the day after his reformatting.

Cheetor gave himself a shake. "No," he murmured, ending that train of thought. "Come on; snap _out_ of it!"

He checked his internal chronometer and discovered he only had a few cycles left before his shift. "_Oh_, slag," he grunted, and he stepped up to the energon dispenser and filled the cup half way. On the Axalon, they had had an entire set of systems dedicated to their energon stores. Most of it was unsalvageable, of course (that was just how their luck had been going lately). This one was a damaged, back-up dispenser that had to be manually operated, and produced a gritty, deep pink, low grade energon. It was thick and almost too sweet, even for him.

He downed the cup quickly. The energon hit his tanks and immediately gave him a surge of strength. Then he rinsed out the cup, and his mouth, with water.

Cheetor checked his chronometer again, and, from one makeshift structure to another, went to the control centre.

Rhinox was there, of course; Rhinox was always in the control centre these days. He barely spared Cheetor a glance before returning to the monitors. "Good morning, Cheetor," he murmured, "You've got a patrol coming up, right?"

Cheetor nodded then realized that Rhinox would not have seen it. "Yeah," he confirmed aloud, "in sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi."

"That's pretty far out," Rhinox said, pulling up a map on another screen; their base and sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi were both highlighted in green. They were separated by a considerable amount of terrain, one of the reasons why Cheetor's shift was supposed to take up most of the day. "Try to keep in radio contact."

"Why? Afraid I can't handle whatever's out there?"

"That'd be my concern."

Cheetor snorted, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, horn head."

A small smile spread across Rhinox's face, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the doors, "Go on. Get out of here."

Cheetor grinned and stuck his tongue out that the engineer, before going for the heavily armored doors. Rhinox had already triggered open the door for him and there was just enough space for Cheetor to hunch his shoulders and slip through. Outside, the young Maximal drew some of the cool early morning air through his vents and cycled it through his systems before expelling it in a rush.

Hopefully patrol would help take his mind off the dream and the awkwardness concerning Blackarachnia and Silverbolt.

Rattrap was manning one of the guns. The spy waved at him sleepily. Cheetor waved back before flipping into his beast mode. "See ya later, Rattrap," he said.

"Have fun," the spy muttered, sarcastic even at this hour.

"You bet!" the cat replied; patrol or not, he intended to make the most of his day away from base.

Rattrap seemed mildly disgusted by his early morning enthusiasm."_Tch._ Why are you still here, Spots?" The minibot waved him away. "Get goin'!"

Cheetor snickered, "See ya, rat-face."

"I said '_go'_!"

Cheetor shook his head, still snickering, before rocking back on his hind quarters and taking off.

It felt good to run. He couldn't fly with this new body but he was so fast and agile, it hardly seemed to matter. He was sure he was going to miss flying at some point, but for now he was falling in love with his feet all over again; in his first transmetal body he'd almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to just be on the ground.

Besides, he was now faster afoot than he had been as a flier.

Cheetor cleared the canyons surrounding the volcano and the buried _Arc_ faster than most mechs could have managed. The rough gorges gave way to barren foothills and, further out, rolling grasslands. Anticipation sent a rush of excitement through his spark. Speed, the rush of air, the low burning in his taxed frame; this was what he lived for.

The decision to use his top speed was spontaneous; he knew he couldn't keep it up for long, but why _not_ see how fast and how far he could go in that limited time? There was nothing to justify it but itself and his own excitement. He lengthened his strides to great bounding leaps, and activated the booster grafted to his back.

Details were swept away as his already considerable stride quadrupled in length. The wind howling passed his audials drowned out the rest of the world. Pumps and motors throughout his frame were working double time. The pressure was rapidly increasing.

He broke the sound barrier and time slowed, just for an instant. His systems did a quick, auto-reset. His audials were ringing. Then he was moving faster than the world around him.

His sensors informed him that he was traveling at nearly mach two, and a giddy thrill raced along his circuits. Cheetor ignored his rapidly depleting energy reserves and pushed himself for a few more seconds, before his frame flatly refused to keep it up. His CPU began to drone monotone warnings about energy levels, highly taxed components, overheating, and '_initiating restrictive protocols to prevent possible damage_'.

'Override,' he ordered.

His main computer attempted to comply, but only a few seconds later the warning returned, more insistent.

'_Initiating restrictive protocols and immediate shut down of unnecessary systems to prevent possible damage,'_ recited his computer.

"Alright, alright," Cheetor muttered, slowing. Top speed was fun, but only if he didn't drop of energy depletion afterwards. Besides, the aching in his limbs testified to the strain and his cooling system was working double time. "Okay, time to slow down a little."

The young Maximal eased back to a lazy lope, and checked his internal read-outs. He was almost at sector Bandayo Ixhaphozi; if he kept his current pace he'd be there in twenty cycles (give or take). Still giddy with the post-run thrill, Cheetor hopped, skipped and jumped a few paces before carrying on.

As soon as his systems cooled down, he wanted to go for another run.

* * *

It hadn't been hard to get Depth Charge to follow him, but then again, it never was; he had just brushed the very edge of the Maximal's sensory field, and Depth Charge had dropped everything and taken off after him.

Rampage kept up the brisk pace and checked back, not with his sensors by with his spark; he could feel Depth Charge, deep running pain and hot rage that verged on the out of control. Coupled with the lovely little taste of freedom Megatron's newest plan allowed him, it looked as if it would shape up to be a wonderful day.

With any luck, Depth Charge would catch up to Rampage soon; Megatron had ordered him not to engage in a fight until Rampage received word, but it would _hardly_ be _his_ fault if the flier engaged him first.

More so, he could feel another spark approaching from the west; the Maximal cub, if he was not mistaken. That was good; not only would the youngling's presence provide him with further ammunition against Depth Charge, but he had a personal score to settle with the cat.

Rampage chuckled, "Ah, yes; wonderful indeed."

* * *

Megatron re-checked the small device magnetically fastened to his chest plates, the closest he would get to admitting uncertainly of _any_ kind. His plan hinged on the operation of these devices; they had been successful in field tests but they only operated within a limited window.

He glanced at Tarantulas, hanging silently against the cliff face directly above the Maximal base, or more accurately, the Maximal guarding the doors. Megatron could only spot him because of the angle; any lower and maniacal spider would have disappeared against the stone's uneven surface. While not on the best of terms with the arachnid, Megatron knew him well enough to be assured he had Tarantulas' loyalty for the time being.

He had already received word from Rampage that Depth Charge had been located. Rampage was currently leading the Maximal around in circles, further and further away, and waiting for Megatron's signal to engage the other triple changer in a fight; the crab was not pleased with having to wait but, not wishing to incite further punishment, Rampage complied.

He had seen the pussy cat leave the base only cycles ago; the youngling was fond of long patrols and copious amounts of legwork, taken on for no other reason than the expenditure of his boundless energy. With those two out of the way for now, he just had to wait for Optimus to be lured out.

Megatron smirked; they were running out of time and the devices didn't work for ever, but, with the way things looked to be heading thus far, it didn't seem too unreasonable to hope for Optimus to act soon.

He glanced at the three Predicons stationed with him: Dinobot II was strutlessly relaxed, optics focused and unwavering, Inferno was still and stiffly at attention, blaster pointed skyward, awaiting the signal, and Quickstrike was practically buzzing with excitement, bouncing on his feet.

His smirk widened a little more. '_Now, Optimus,_' he thought, turning back to the blast doors that protected the Maximal base and the _Arc_ within, '_just take the bait._'


	2. Heralding The Fall

Guess what?

I'm alive!

Sorry it took so long to update, but I've had a very stressful month involving college applications and end of year work. But it's now over and I _finally_ managed to pound out this chapter.

This chapter kind of _grew _as I was writing it and ended up longer then I had intended. _Hmm._ Oddly, it was that short bit with Rampage that took the longest; for some reason, he just decided he was going to be difficult to write.

I'll shut up now.

_I don't own Transformers: Beast Wars. If I did, I wouldn't be saving my pennies for college._

------

**Chapter 2: Heralding The Fall**

"Hunt them down. Do not stop until they are found. You do not know pain, you do not know fear. You will taste man-flesh."

_Saruman,__ Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring_

---

The Maximal base was quiet and peaceful to the point of deathly.

The thought did not sit well with Optimus; it brought up to many memories, gave him too much time to think. As much as he enjoyed 'peaceful,' he liked the noise and movement that came with his crew's day-to-day life.

He _missed_ Rattrap and Dinobot's banter. He missed hearing Airazer and Cheetor work each other into peals of laughter over some quirk no one else understood. Missed the surprise of finding Tigertron, always prone to appearing without warning, waiting for them on the bridge early in the morning.

But that was then, he supposed, and this was their life now.

At the very least there was always _something_ to be done; their base's constant need for repair and maintenance was often enough kept them busy. Seismic activity wreaked havoc on the supports and the precarious sheet-metal structures of the galley and the storage shed. The salvaged parts of the _Axalon_ still required additional welding and patchwork. The jerry-rigged systems (particularly those that fused Autobot and Maximal tech) were prone to glitches and needed extensive debugging. The damaged main computer was liable to crash. The list went on. And that was in addition to necessities like patrolling, scouting, collecting raw energon for conversion, and keeping tabs on the Predicons.

Optimus allowed himself a weary sigh and turned to the _Arc_, resting across the cavern from the Maximals' new base. As if their lives hadn't been complicated enough; now they were worrying about more than just themselves. The stain was tiring for them all and the thought of Megatron every getting so close to the _Arc_ again, let alone _inside_ it, chilled him to the spark.

On the other hand, it was remarkable how something as large, impressive and historically significant as the Auotbot ship, the _Arc_ (never mind the stasis-locked Autobots and Decepticons themselves), could so easily fall into the background; waking up and seeing the _Arc_ through his window was just another part of life. Humans had a saying that it was possible to get used to anything; he could appreciated that.

He stopped at the galley for some energon, before continuing to the control centre. Rhinox was there (as usual). "Good morning," he greeted the engineer. He took a mouthful of the energon, and promptly choked.

It seemed thicker than usual; he could barely swallow it.

Rhinox watched him cough and sputter, and told him, flatly, "Don't choke; it would be horribly embarrassing if our leader was killed by his morning energon."

Optimus, now that his valves had stopped refusing to push the syrupy liquid down, managed a chuckle, "Yes, indeed. I survive Megatron's plotting, an aggression-inducing behavioral-reprogramming virus, poisonous plants, high power weaponry, total reconfiguration, not once, but twice, and—"

"Close proximity to exploding moons," Rhinox added, nearly grinning.

Optimus smiled sheepishly, "Yes, those too. And after all that, I choke to death on our horrible, barely-processed energon."

"The greatest irony being how we don't even need air," Rhinox shook his head, "As for the energon, we're working on it; if we're lucky, we might even have something palatable in the next few millennia."

Optimus snorted, "Well, I see its right up there on the priority list."

"Right along with fixing these slagging systems," Rhinox growled, glaring at the console, "I've had to rewrite more than half the codes, defragment the entire memory bank, and I keep having to reboot the whole system every half a megacycle. It's driving me fritzy. Optimus, if don't have a major glitch developing, I'll be amazed!" He tossed a sullen glance at a smaller monitor to the side, and added, "And those Preds are getting me nervous, too."

Optimus bent closer, "What Preds?"

Rhinox tapped the monitor for emphasis, "They're in sub-grid delta, grid 6." Optimus bend low over his friend's shoulder to look; sure enough, there were four Predicon signatures clustered at the edge of sub-grid delta. The individual identification codes indicated that they were Megatron, Inferno, Quickstrike and Waspinator. "They've just been sitting there," Rhinox continued, glaring at the screen. "It's been almost a megacycle." He turned to Optimus, "There's nothing out there to interest them, and the scans say that there's just no activity; they're not doing _anything_."

Optimus sighed, "They're never 'not doing anything.'" He straightened up. "Rhinox, watch the base. I'm going to investigate."

Rhinox frowned, "Wouldn't it be better to wait for Silverbolt? If the Preds are up to something, you might need the back up."

Optimus made a dismissive gesture, "No, Silverbolt needs to stay in the CR camber until he's fully repaired; he needs the rest. Beside, this is just a scouting mission, I plan to avoid a full out fight."

"If we were only that _lucky_!"

Optimus ignored Rhinox's agitated parting shot, and slipped out the doors. Rattrap, manning one of the guns, stifled a yawn and greeted him with a weary, "Hey, Boss Monkey. Where ya goin'?"

"Just a scouting mission," Optimus replied; no need to worry the already pessimistic rodent with unconfirmed Intel. Besides, if he told Rattrap that Preds were for the most part (Rampage, Dinobot II and Tarantulas were not accounted for but Rampage had always been very difficult to trace, Dinobot II equally so, and Tarantulas had long since developed a knack for dropping off the scanners) a full megacycle out, he might decide he had time for a snooze.

He cast his optics around the empty canyon. "Anything to report?" he asked.

Rattrap shrugged, "Eh, I won't waste _your_ time or _my_ breath; there hasn't been a hide, hair, nanochip, nor scale of Megs or the rest of his merry band."

Optimus nodded, "Well, let's hope it stays that way. I should be back in a few megacycles."

The minibot waved him off, "Yeah, yeah. Go have fun. Don't crash or anything stupid."

Optimus snorted, lip components twitching up into a smile, "I'll try not to."

Kicking off, he transformed into his flight mode, hovered for a moment as his sensors re-aligned themselves, and took off, slow and low, sweeping out of the canyon. It was a nice day, a little windy and the barometric pressure indicated coming rain, but for now it was warm and sunny; yet, for some reason, Optimus has the feeling it was going to be a very long day.

* * *

The moment he'd seen Optimus step out of the Maximal base, Megatron had ducked down, wedged into a fissure in the rocky terrain, and waited. After a few patient moments, he heard the distinct mellow roar of Optimus' flight mode take off. The Predicon commander waited until the sound faded completely before he risked a glace into the canyon again; yes, Optimus was indeed gone and the rodent had gone back to his lazy vigilance.

"Ah, _perfect_," he murmured, running a hand over his newest 'toy,' a small device linked to his pulse-cannon (which was conveniently always on hand, no pun intended; the cannon formed his right arm as well as his beastmode's tail). The device modified the cannon's setting to produce the desired effect, but resultantly its power had been so cut down he had to be at practically pointblank range for it to be effective.

Thus, the use of this new raid-style tactic, which would allow Megatron the time and proximity he needed to put his new weapon to use.

While dangerous in their own right, without Optimus, Depth Charge and Cheetor, their resident 'heavy hitters,' the remaining Maximals would be much more manageable. Tarantulas' devices and the effect of his modified cannon would confuse and unnerve the enemy mechs. The Predicons would have ample time to act. Then, when the three remaining Maximals returned (and they were likely to do so individually), the Predicons would be waiting for them.

"Boss?" Quickstrike whispered. The minibot was twitching, and the crazy lilt in his heavily accented voice was more noticeable. "_Boss_, we ready?"

"Patience, Quickstrike," Megatron replied, smirking, "It won't be much longer."

It certainly wouldn't; he could see Tarantulas beginning to move, descending slowing and silently towards Rattrap. He watched, for a painfully long cycle, until Tarantulas was right above Rattrap. The arachnid drew his legs in, poised on the rock face.

Megatron smirked, a hand coming up to the first small device latched onto his chest plate.

Tarantulas dropped from the cliff, falling on top of a very startled Rattrap, and tore the rodent from his perch at the gun. The two mechs tumbled to the ground. Tarantulas scrambled to his beastmode's many feet and lashed out with two front appendages, catching Rattrap squarely in the jaw.

Megatron stood and switched into his beastmode. "Predicons!" he barked, "Forward!" He activated his thrusters and swiftly descended on the grapping mechs. Tarantulas had sprung upon the smaller Maximal, trying to pin him, and perhaps to administer an _un_healthy dose of cybervenom, but Rattrap was recovering from his shock.

The rat curled and got his feet under Tarantulas. He straightened his short, powerful legs violently and the Predicon was thrown back. The spy snatched the sidearm from the magnetic lock on his thigh and pointed it at Tarantulas. The first shot was badly angled and only grazed Tarantulas. The larger mech skittered away, hissing and chattering angrily.

Rattrap surged to his feet, aiming for Tarantulas again, when he notice Megatron's looming frame. "Ah, _for bootin' up cold!_" the Maximal groaned. Abruptly the air was alive with static and radio waves as the rodent opened up his com. link on all available frequencies, "Rattrap to _anybody!_ We got--"

_Oh_ no, no, no, no. It just would not do for the spy to alert the other Maximals to Megatron's plan before he could properly put it in motion.

Megatron transformed back to his robot mode, midair, and took a shot at the minibot. Despite his cannon's weakened state, it still produced the desired affect; Rattrap shrieked and dove out of the way, effectively cutting his transmission short. Megatron landed heavily on his feet and leveled his cannon with Rattrap's torso plate.

The Maximal had just enough time to process his situation and breathe "_oh, slag!_" before Megatron shot him, point-blank. The minibot was thrown back and hit the ground in stasis-lock.

Megatron paused, examining his handy work and pushing down the giddy thrill humming through his circlets; as much as he enjoyed shooting Maximals, he really had very little time to gloat at the moment.

Megatron could hear the distinct airy hum of Inferno's flight mode. He glanced back and saw the soldier approaching, still rigidly at attention even in the air. By contrast, Quickstrike, sitting astride Inferno's thrusters, was considerably more mobile; his legs locked around the ant, he flailed and waved his arms excitedly, perhaps trying to make up for Megatron's ordered silence; the minibot had a habit of whooping and hollering when he was excited, and Megatron did not want to risk the element of surprise until it was too late for the Maximals.

Beyond them, Dinobot II was making his way towards them; the proud warrior had not waited for assistance, scaling down the cliff quickly and roughly. The warrior didn't care about damaging himself, one of the advantages to animating him with a piece of Rampage's unnatural spark.

He turned back to the blast door. "Tarantulas, how much longer will the signal emitters work?" he inquired, tapping the small device on his chest for emphasis.

Tarantulas had switched into his bipedal form and was examining the long scorch mark left by the rodent's poor shot. "Not much longer," he said, not looking up, "A few cycles, at best."

"Hmmm…" Megatron drummed his fingers against the device on his cannon. When Rattrap woke up, he would know if his latest invention worked. If it did, it held the potential for great… amusement. If not, well, he doubted the rodent would be much of a problem.

Inferno landed only feet from him. "You two _do_ know what you are supposed to do, yes?" he asked, eyeing the soldier and his minibot companion.

"Yep, Boss, we got it," Quickstrike said, sounding cheerful.

"We are to hunt down the Maximal fuszor and the traitor to our colony," Inferno affirmed briskly.

"Yes, _yes_," he drawled, "Good. Dinobot?" The Transmetal II had skid to a halt next to them, tearing furrows in the dusty ground.

"Yes, Megatron," he replied, voice gruff and oddly… was that affliction he heard in the raptor's voice? Dinobot was scowling at the rodent's prone form, looking almost sullen and a little baffled, before he focused on Megtron.

No, Megatron decided, he had to have been imaging it. That, or perhaps his new Dinobot was reacting to his patchy knowledge of the original Dinobot's betrayal; he had spent megacycles trying to understand Dinobot's reasoning. He was well aware that Rattrap and Dinobot had often worked closely together. That was most likely it.

"You know what to do," Megatron said, firmly, before adding in a coy voice, "Or will you be needing… assistance?"

Dinobot reacted predictably. "I need no _assistance_," Dinobot replied haughtily, "I shall deal with the Maximals."

"Good," he murmured. Megatron jerked his head towards the blast doors, "Go!"

Dinobot slipped through the doors and disappeared.

Inferno and Quickstrike went after him, before Megatron stepped though himself.

Ah, back on track. Megatron smirked. Not long now.

* * *

Depth Charge was getting very close.

Rampage felt a familiar thrill hum through his circuitry, excitement for the coming fight.

And he had to consider Cheetor as well; he had followed the young Maximal in the hopes of adding a new factor to his and Depth Charge's ongoing game. The cat had led them to a swamp. It seemed most befitting, a lovely backdrop for his type of fun.

Rampage squirmed in delight, and reached out for the youngling's spark again; closer now, he could sense exhilaration, remarkable openness and just a little darkness, something that had been part of his spark since his reformatting into a transmetal II.

Rampage stretched back and brushed Depth Charge's fast approaching spark; anger, hatered, blindness. He would no doubt be so caught up in his pursuit, that he probably wouldn't even notice Cheetor's energy signature. Cheetor, meanwhile, would have no reason to pay such heed. With a little luck, both would play right into his claws.

* * *

Cheetor was getting tired and his conservation tank was entirely empty; the down side to running was just how fast it burn through his reserves.

Okay, so _maybe_ he should have thought the idea a little more through before he decided to try his top speed.

Or maybe he should have drank more fuel before leaving the base.

Or he could have waited until _after_ his shift to go for a run.

Well, if nothing else, the Beast Wars had perfected his hindsight.

Of course, he could make use of one of the beastformer format's most important attributes: the ability to break down and convert organic matter into usable energy. True, they had to consume a _lot_ of organic matter to equal what they would normally get from energon (even poorly processed, overly-sweet low grade), but it was a useful option to have. Some Cybertronians would have killed to have that ability; after all, wars had been fought over energy and Cybertron's too rapidly dwindling supply.

The swamp at Bandayo Ixhaphozi sector was full of antelope. They were golden, with white bellies, and had short spiraled horns. Cheetor suspected they were lechwe (mind you, he was no zoologist); swamp-dwelling antelope that often lived in large herds, their hind legs longer than their forelegs. Most of the adults were as large, or larger, than he was.

He singled out a small one on the edge of the herd and shadowed it as it wandered. He waited until it stepped up onto a shallow embankment, a place where Cheetor could stand and eat without worrying about being chest plate deep in water.

He climbed the embankment from the other side and settled down into the grass, letting the lechwe approach him. As it came closer, he slowed his internals to a crawl, clicking off cooling fans, small motors and peripheral pumps. The lechwe was forced on grazing, unaware of him. His primary fuel pump was thundering in his chest cavity. He drew deep draughts of cool, moist air through his intakes to compensate for his inactive cooling fans. It was a young buck, he realized, and if it stopped nervously scanning the area around the embankment and paid attention to its immediate surroundings, it would have probably saw him. Cheetor waited until it was within half a meter of him before he lunged.

Cheetor doubted the antelope even knew what happened; he caught its throat, braced his forefeet against its shoulders and twisted. Its neck broke with a _crack!_ The buck was dead in a span of less than a millicycle. The other lechwe bolted in shock; a cycle later, Cheetor was alone with his catch.

The young Maximal looked the buck over as his internals returned to speed; it was as big as he was and he doubted he could eat all of it. Once he'd had his fill, he'd leave the carcass for the scavengers; organic matter never went to waste on this planet. He started eating, savoring the slightly-bitter, almost metallic taste of raw meat and blood; it was different than anything back home on Cybertron; it would probably be one of those things he would miss about this planet when they finally got home.

The thought of Cybertron sent an odd thrill through his circlets and made it feel like a weight had settled at the bottom of his conservation tank. He wasn't sure why, but his thoughts of Cybertron weren't as fond any more, worse now that he was a transmetal II.

He didn't want to think that he was ashamed of his new form, but…

A _ping_ registered on his sensors.

Paused, still pulling at the dead lechwe, Cheetor checked his read outs; his sensors had picked up an approaching Maximal energy signature. It was Depth Charge, it Cheetor's instruments weren't far off.

The cheetah ripped another chunk from the carcass, chewing thoughtfully. He hadn't seen Depth Charge for several days; the mech had been off doing whatever he did when he wasn't on base and Cheetor had been busy with various errands. The triple changer was coming in his direction, at a fair clip. That was a little concerning; Depth Charge was much more inclined to take his time, flying low and leisurely. His alt. mode _was_ a Maximal cargo transport, after all.

He was moving that fast, there had to be a reason.

Cheetor paused in his meal, and transmitted a data burst to the former peace-marshal; a greeting and polite invitation to join in his catch (typical of Maximal etiquette, even if he doubted Depth Charge would accept the offer), mixed with a wary inquiry.

On his scanners, Depth Charge came to an abrupt halt and even drew back a little, and a sudden sense of shock and horror flooded Cheetor's spark. The youngling balked, startled. "Jumping gyros!" he gasped, surging to his feet. Depth Charge was moving again, if anything pushing himself faster. His returning data burst did nothing to ease Cheetor's sudden, illogical sense of impending doom. It was simple and chilling:

_Run_

Cheetor whirled, kill forgotten, and he leapt from the embankment. Water surged up to his chest plates. It got into his vents. He expelled air sharply, clearing his vents. Cheetor leapt again, seeking desperately for higher ground, someplace where he wouldn't have to contend with the water resistance and the swamp weeds.

Depth Charge's second data burst was a millicycle too late: _X is right on top of you_

Suddenly Cheetor was dragged into the air. A crushing pressure was clamped around his chassis. Internal supports threatened to buckle under the strain. A large red claw was burst from the murky swamp and was closed around his torso.

He panicked. He thrashed. It didn't do him an iota of good.

He was suddenly dragged down, into the water and a second claw clamped around his narrow waist. Cheetor suddenly found himself face to face with Rampage. Mud and swamp weeds dripped off his large frame, as he quizzically examined the Maximal.

"Well, well," he murmured, smugly, "Now see what I've caught."


	3. All Fall Down

A/N:

....

...In my defence, I needed to get my computer a new operating system, did NOT have a spellchecker to help point out my mistakes (so live with them), was balancing two jobs, am just starting college (Algonquin Animation, with one of the heaviest course loads in the entire school ('_What the HELL have I gotten myself into?'_)) and have just have just been put through some of the most stressful months of my life...

In short, I am very, very, _very_ sorry it took so long it finally get my lazy butt in gear and produce this chapter.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Seriously, I love you guys!

A note to Mith: you're right on the dot about the dream, love; glad someone caught that.

Edit: Thanks to 11, who was right; it is _Ark_ (as in 'chest' or 'that big boat that got pelted with rain for fourty days and nights'), not _Arc_ (as in 'the physics behind curves and bendy lines'). I'll change those from here on ;P

By the way, about time measurments here; it's based largely on what increments they use in the show. So, a megacycle is roughly an hour, a cycle is essentcually a minute, and a millicycle is about a second. Since Rattrap has also used 'nano' and kilk to mean either minute, second or 'a moment', I'll use these as less defined units of time measurement. A solar cycle is a full day. A month is a month (go figure).

Oh, and, since I remember Optimus once using meters to describe the distance to a hole in the wall the Rhinox had apparently decided was in his way, these Maxis and Preds are gonna use the metric system; hence, kilometers.

**-------**

**Chapter 3: All Fall Down**

'Our voices trail off as we hear it- no, we _feel_ it. Something is stirring in the shadows of that dark, dark corner.'

_~The Blue Girl, Charles de Lint_

------

It seemed that Rhinox was spending all of his time in the Maximal control center these days. And, frankly, he was; he even slept there, his collapsible cot tucked away in the far corner. He couldn't even remember the last time he went outside to just take a walk and smell some flowers.

The computers and the systems linked to them (more-or-less all of them) demanded constant attention. The repair and reprogramming were painfully slow but absolutely necessary tasks, and he and Blackarachnia were the only ones who could do it; no one else had the technical knowledge.

Speaking of Blackarachnia, she was suppose to be helping him. He'd seen her earlier that morning, down by the CR chamber, reading a datapad. Silverbolt, tired and scorched from a close encounter with Inferno, was dosing peacefully in the chamber, recovering and repairing. Blackarachnia refused to _fuss_ over her injured lover; or, more accurately, she refused to let them _see_ her fuss over her injured lover. So, Rhinox let it slide; whatever she said, she'd likely be too distracted to be of much help.

Rhinox sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't making much progress; why did it seem that every time he fixed a problem, two more cropped up?

He rubbed his optics and huffed. "Slag," he informed the control center at large, "I'm too tired to deal with this scrap." He spared the monitor to his left a glace. The long range sensors were still picking up four Predicon energy signatures in sub-grid delta, grid 6, and the _still_ weren't doing anything. "And, why do they _always_ have to be _up to something_?" he asked no one in particular, "Why can't they just be out there, having a picnic or something? Just for a change of pace."

No One in Particular didn't bother to dignify that with a response. Go figure.

He groaned and lower his head to the console, his brow-ridge meeting the surface with a dull 'clang'. The systems just didn't want to work today and nothing he did seemed to have much effect on them. Maybe if he--

"_Rattrap to_ anybody!"

Rhinox jerked up, startled.

"_We got--_"

Then the transmission was over and every defensive program in Rhinox's CPU came on-line.

"_Rattrap, come in,_" he demanded.

After a brief moment of mounting dismay, Rhinox tried again, "_Rattrap, come_ in!"

Soft static was the only reply.

"..._Slag_."

The knowledge that Rattrap was on guard duty, right outside the main doors, served to put Rhinox on edge. The message had been brief, cutting off sharply; either Rattrap was unconscious, had lost use of his com-link, or the Preds had set up a jamming zone right on top of them.

The first seemed most likely; if Rattrap had simply lost his com-link, he would probably be back inside the base by now (or at least raising merry pit outside the doors).

Rhinox glanced at the monitor; four Preds still accounted for. At such close range, Tarantulas' energy signature would have shown up on the scan. That left Dinobot II and Rampage, quite possibly the two of them together.

The thought of either of those Preds knocking on his door didn't make Rhinox particularly happy.

He drew his heavy machine guns out from the holsters in his frame and checked his ammunition supply. Because the guns were integrated beastformer weaponry (essentially a living part of him), they were maintained through his own systems, effected by his self-repair and armed with rounds created by his protoform, meaning, provided he was healthy and functional, Rhinox would never run out of ammo.

Rhinox activated his com-link, stepping up to the base's defensive controls, "_Blackarachnia, come in._"

He was briefly distracted by what he could have sworn was the sound of the blast doors being nudged open.

"_Blackarachnia. What is it, rhino? What happened? I only caught part of Rattrap's transmission--_"

He cut her off, "_'Part' was all he sent; it was cut off and there's no sign of him. How soon can you have Silverbolt out of the CR chamber and on his feet?_" he asked, checking the various traps rigged up in the front hall; according to the read outs, nothing had been set off, which was only a slight relief. He brought the autoguns online.

"_Way ahead of you; Bowser's right here._"

And, very faintly, over Blackarachnia's com-link Rhinox caught Silverbolt's voice, "_I am here, Rhinox._" He sounded shaky, not surprising if Blackarachnia had interrupted his CR cycle; he'd probably be too disoriented to fight for a while longer.

Watching the entrance warily, he turned from the controls in favour of another console, the communication hub; the base's transmission capabilities were much greater than that of their personal com-links, though given how short range their com.s worked, that wasn't saying much.

"_Good,_" he began.

Something moved and Rhinox wheeled on it, guns up.

There was nothing there.

He caught a shape, the distinctive silhouette of an arm and torso, in his peripheral and snapped around to focus on it.

Then he almost sighed in relief; what he had seen was a shadow cast by precariously stacked equipment on the edge of another console.

Of course, he really didn't feel much better, because he was now, officially, jumping at shadows.

_'Slagging wonderful.'_

"_Rhinox? Hey!_" Blackarchnia's voice brought him back to the present. "_You still there?_"

"_Yes,_" he answered, "_I'm here... Sorry,_" he added, shortly. "_Blackarachnia, I want you to go down to the _Ark_; get inside and get all _Teletraan's _defencive systems online. Silverbolt, come up to the entrance as soon as you can fly in a straight line and fight without getting yourself slagged._"

There were sound of reluctant agreement over the line.

Rhinox boosted the communication terminal's signal to its maximum, and prayed that it would be enough. "_Base to Maximals_," he broadcasted, "_Come in..._"

He paused for a nano, praying he would get a response. "_Base to Maximals,_" he tried again, "_We have a possible situation here. Request back up from whoever-the-slag's closest!_"

He stopped again, listening. He knew Cheetor would be far, far out of range, but he was praying that Optimus hadn't gotten too far or that maybe Depth Charge was sticking close to HQ today.

It was obviously too much to hope for; the only reply Rhinox got was static.

He scowled at the console and made a decidedly rude gesture at it, its pitiful range, and (by extension) the situation as a whole.

"Primus hates us," he informed the world, gloomily.

Something '_twang_'ed in the distance, followed by the adverse '_kreeeeak_' of metal, a heavy '_thump_' and a flood of startled cursing. A moment later, the defence console, lit up; one of the boobietraps had been set off. Rhinox almost sighed; somehow, through all the bizarrity and his growing concern, it still rankled him that when this was all over (_'And if we survive'_, added an ever pessimistic voice in his processor that had plagued him since activation) he and Rattrap would spend _megacycles _resetting all those traps.

In any case, he now knew someone who didn't know how to disarm the traps was in the base. Machine guns out and primed, he exited the control area slowly, still wary of the lack of noise.

He didn't see anyone; at least, not yet.

The autoguns should have gone off before anyone got to the traps; they were programed to shoot at any Cybertronian without a Maximal identification signature.

Rhinox turned to the entrance and found the remains of the sprung trap: a large slab currently laying on the floor, a massive metal spring, and a catch tied to a length of string stretched between the trap and the nearest permanent fixture. If the string was pulled (say, caught on an unwary ankle), the latch came loose, the spring uncoiled violently and the slab flipped forward and squashed to poor slagger who pulled the string.

He spared the slab only a quick glance; the trap hadn't caught anything.

Something moved.

Rhinox whipped around. He jerked his guns back, bring to bare...

...On nothing?

Rhinox sighed. Another shadow. Another illusion. Another 'nothing's-really-there-but-I'm-jumpy-so-why-take-a-chance'. The rhino huffed, feeling a vague sting of embarrassment, and stronger sting of indignation, and some emotion that could be summed up as '_why me?_'

He eyed the cavern warily, and eased himself down behind a large piece battered of equipment (a mining drill salvaged from the _Axalon_ to be exact) and addressed the room at large, "I know you're there, so you might as well come out so we can exchange the usual witty banter and try to kill each other like civilized mechs."

"'Like civilized mechs?" repeated Megatron's voice from further up the cavern. The tyrannosaurus laughed, a deep booming that echoed off the walls and ceiling. Rhinox half lifted himself and peeked around the drill. The Predicon, cannon up and fully charged, had partly stepped out from behind a hallow in the rough stone walls, and offered Rhinox a charming, far too amused smile.

"'And try to kill each other like civilized mech!'" He chuckled and shook his head, "Oh, I like that. '_Civilized_ mechs.' Very well, Rhinox; let's have it, the witty banter."

Rhinox snorted, "That _was_ witty banter. So, I guess that makes it your turn; try to be original."

Megatron laughed again, "My dear Rhinox, how _thoughtful_ and _considerate_ of you!"

Rhinox briefly attempted to calculate his odds of survival if he simply stepped out from behind the drill, walked right up to Megatron, and pounded his smiling face plate and too-perfect dental structures into sheet metal.

Chances were it would be suicidal, but highly satisfying.

"Why it's almost like we're _friends_ already!"

The words brought Rhinox back to reality, and sent a chill down his spinal strut; in themselves, the words wouldn't have given him any pause, but Megatron's tone changed, just a little, and his smile twisted into something much more wicked for a split millicycle. Rhinox didn't know what to made of it, and that was perhaps the most unnerving thing about it.

'Why it's almost like we're _friends_ already?' What on Cybertron did him mean by that?

His optics narrowed, and his fingers tightened on the triggers. "Yes," he replied, lowly. "Almost. Speaking of friends, Megatron, where's Rattrap?"

Megatron made a show of examining the articulation of his free hand, "Oh, he's alive; you must know how extraordinarily _difficult_ it can be to exterminate vermin." He flexed his cannon arm, the multiple joints staining for a moment, before he brought it down into the palm of his hand.

It was a deliberate move, meant to draw attention to the weapon.

Rattrap was alive, but Megatron obviously meant to leave his state of condition up to Rhinox's imagination. Megatron was brilliant, but not particularly original. It didn't really matter, thought, because it was a widely known fact that Rhinox was an incurable, terminal pessimist; he didn't need the encouragement to imagine what kind of horrible, depressing state Rattrap was in.

Rhinox's mouth tightened, dentals grinding together.

Obviously feeling he'd let the morbid allusion hang in the air long enough, the Predicon continued, "And, since we're on the subject of friends, I can't help but _notice_ how several of yours seem to be _absent_?"

The bastard must have seen how Rhinox's face plates darken and his shoulders tensed, because his smile broadened before being replaced by a look of false concern, "Optimus and Depth Charge seem to be late. _Why_, I wonder wherever could they be?"

It was fairly obvious the slagger knew the Maximal commander was away...

Which brought Rhinox back to the reason...

He frowned and curiosity got the better of him, "We had your energy signatures on our sensors; you were supposed to be kilometers away from here." The defense system hadn't even reacted to Megatron's presence and he was standing in the slagging base!

Megatron smirked, and coyly tapped his chin, saying nothing.

Rhinox snorted, 'Fine then. Say nothing.'

"Slag you," he told the Predicon commander bluntly.

"My, _my_," the tyrannosaurus responded, "Now, was that witty banter?"

"No, this is."

And Rhinox opened fire.

Megatron gave an undignified '_Eeyeep!_' and dove back behind the corner. Rhinox could feel the vibrations through the ground, and the thought of Megatron's doubtlessly ungraceful landing made his quite happy.

He continued to shoot at the place where Megatron had been standing for a few more nanos, silently venting with his massive chain guns (the '_Chain Guns of Doom_' as Rattrap and Cheetor affectionately referred to them), before finally reining himself in.

No matter how good the senseless waste of ammo and the destruction of a hapless rock face felt, it wasn't getting him anywhere.

Rhinox ceased firing and moved around the drill, trying for a better angle to cover the cave (and ,hopefully, he'd get a chance to peg Megatron again).

An energy blast streaked bast his head.

Ducking back, he whirled on the source of the blast. Quickstrike and Inferno were there, making a spectacle of themselves; the fusor was laughing like a maniac, as Inferno spouted off some drivel to the effect of "_All Hail The Queen!_"

"Oh, give me a break," grumbled Rhinox, before firing on them.

Quickstrike, seeing the guns come up, screamed like a little femme and dropped behind their cover. Inferno, being slower (or, perhaps, simply less sensible), was caught in a hail of bullets before Quickstrike pulled him down.

Rhinox stopped shooting again and pursed his lip components in disappointment; figures the cowards wouldn't come out, even when they out numbered him three to one-

There was a surge of motion beside him.

The Maximal had enough time to correct himself -four to one- before Dinobot II was on him.

The Pred was big, wicked fast, and way too close.

His guns were knocked away, useless at the short range, and Rhinox set his re-enforced arm struts and knuckle joints to use. He and Dinobot laid into each other. The raptor's claws dug impressive gouges in Rhinox's thick armor; most were superficial, but sometimes he scored something poorly protected and tender, and that hurt like pit. Dinobot's thrashing and fighting made landing a decent blow much more difficult than Rhinox had anticipated, though the clone soon sported several impressive dents. He blocked the hand swinging at his face. His fist missed Dinobot II's head entirely. Dinobot II lifted his arm--

An energy blast streaked between their heads and scared the pit out of both.

"Slagging _pit_!" barked Rhinox, startled.

"Sweet, mercy of Primus!" Dinobot II gasped.

Quickstrike cackled, "Scared ya good, didn't I, ya yellowbellied toadies?"

He stopped laughing when Dinobot II took a shot at him. The fuzor dove for cover and Dinobot II scowled. "Wittless, addle-sparked, coward," he growled.

Dinobot II's attention turned back to Rhinox, when the Maximal gentally nudged the back of his helm with the muzzel of his gun, "Couldn't agree with you more, but maybe you should have kept your attention on me."

Then something rapped him lightly on the back.

Rhinox froze.

"_My_," Megatron's voice was mild, and sightly chiding. "I could say the same to you, Rhinox, but you did ask me to be _original_."

He was caught. Slaggit all to the Pit. Primus forsake them and let Unicron devour their putrid sparks. May their sparks be barred entrance from the Well of Allsparks. He hoped Optimus _slagged _them all when he got back. He hoped Rattrap survived and would finish his Pred-Parts collection with a _whole slagging set_. He hoped Cheetor _ate_ them.

Bitterly defient, and bolstered by the image of Cheetor knawing on Megatron's femur strut like an enthusiastic, speckled puppy, Rhinox told him, "Shove it up your tailpiles, Pred," and tried to turn on him.

Before he could, Megatron blasted him between the scalpula plates.

***

"_Well_," Megatron huffed; what a waste of time. He'd probably lost the element of surprize, so now sheer speed would be key.

"Inferno," his voice was crisp, and the ant snapped to attention, "You have work to do."

Inferno bowed deeply, adding on an enthusiastic, "_Yes, Royalty!_" before whirlling on his peds. "Quicksrike, come; we must find that traitor and her compatriot!" The minibot whooped, and then they were off.

"Are we ready to begin, or do you plan to keep shooting at Maximals for a while?"

"Ah, Tarantulas," Megatron offered the scientist a false smile. "So good of you to finally join us!"

Tarantulas chattered in indistict anyonnence, before straightening once more. "If you have plans to begin another game with the other Maxi's on base, warn me ahead of time, or you risk the equipment. Afterall, there is a..._ distint_... possiblity that those bafoons won't be able to capture Blackarchnia, and seeing as you've already had you fun with their engineer" -here he kicked Rhinox's still form for emphasys- "we _won't_ be able to salvage the data from him. If we don't get the data, then the equipment is nessisary. Damage it before we have her, and we might as well pack up and leave."

"Oh no," Megatron cut in, "even if we fail, it will be well worth it to see Primal's face when he learns how close we came."

***

It awoke,_ sharp, startled, pumps thundering in shock._

It was fresh, new. _Curious, frightened, angry._

The sun was too bright, the air was too hot. It wanted shelter. It felt hunger._ Hunger. vicious gnawing, clawing._

Behind it was a cave entrance, flanked with hot, sun-beaten metal. Inside would be _cool_, inside would be _damp_, inside would be _away_ from the sun and its burning accusation.

_Don't exist, would exist, couldn't exist._ But it _did_ exist. It had be _thrust_ into existance, _awareness._

There where sounds from the cave, sounds of predators and prey.

It was fresh, new._ Curious, frightened, angry._

And it was _hungry._

So it went inside.

-----

_Sweet!_ Up in time for Halloween!

On a side note, that was much longer then I intened; in fact, that whole part with Rhinox ended up being _huge_ compared to what I orginally planned! If you look at my point-form breakdown of the chapter (which I don't recomment doing; my disregard for grammar and spelling at that stage is even more attroutious than usual) that whole bit was summed up as '_Rinox alerted by the noise, goes to see if Rattrap's okay. Megs shoots him._' As you can see, it kind of got away from me.

I want to appologise again; my life is _so _crazy right now I don't know were to start. Love for Storytellers, Starfire201, Mantykora, Darkshadow008, 11, Mith, Tentei-neechan, Burning DragonSword and Dragoon-Yue; this chapter is for you lot. Thanks to everyone who stuck with this and welcome to any new readers.

Happy Halloween, Boos and Goauls!

: D

(I'm such a twit.)


	4. Baiting

A/N: Life Sucks.

I honestly have an excuse besides laziness and craziness;

1) I was very ill in December and January; not pleasent in the least.

2) I was _almost_ done this chapter, then my computer went critical and I had to get it wiped... again. Thankfully I had most of it backed up; Un-thankfully, I 'temporaly misplaced' the CD with all my documents, including _Civil Monsters IV_.

Yeah, _that_ was an adventure and a half.

And I'm still not happy with how this chapter turned out.

...I'll stop whining now.

A big 'Welcome Back' to everyone who's stuck with this story. Awarm 'Hullo' to anybody new. And an affectionate tackle-hug to everyone who's reviewed.

And an extra hug for Decepticon Fan, who's review made me go, 'Oh _right!_ I need to finish that!' Thank you; I _really_ needed that or else this might have taken even _longer_ (wait, is that even possible?).

Now, on to the story!

~Donna

_I don't own Transformers: Beast Wars. If I did, I wouldn't be saving my pennies for college._

**Chapter 4: Baiting**

'I draw my legs up, wrap my arms around my legs, and back up against the headboard, comforter pulled up to my chin like it's some how going to protect me... It's not fair. I'm _awake_.'

~_The Blue Girl, Charles de Lint_

Panic.

Sheer, overwhelming panic, cutting straight to his spark; it sent his processor reeling and his systems into frantic overdrive, but didn't free him.

Cheetor struggled against the massive claws, mud and water churning around his thrashing limbs, but Rampage refused to budge. The fear, and the water, and the pressure on his chassis threatened to choke him. "What do you want?" he rasped.

'Rasped', not 'squeaked'; he was not losing control over his vocalizer. He was not!

"_My_, aren't we _touchy_?" Rampage responded, _almost _pleasantly. He increased the pressure on Cheetor's frame minutely, just enough that he could really _feel _it. "Now, now," the Predicon chided, "what are you doing out here, all by your lonesome, _sparkling_?"

The mockery of kindness and concern in the words was disturbing, and the pressure unwelcome, so he did his best to ignore them, focusing on... on... _anything _else. Anything to give him an edge, a chance. The patronizing tone irradiated him. Cheetor latched on to that spark of anger; if he was angry enough, then he wouldn't feel the fear.

Cheetor struggled, harder, arching, snarling and--

There was mud in his mouth.

Shocked, the rage went out of him. He was under water, he realized dully. Claws pulled and Rampage lifted him out again, and inquired mildly, "Are you done yet, boy?"

Cheetor sputtered indignant, before roaring, "_Oh YOU sorry, miserable, slagging, son-of-a-tra--!_"

The Maximal was cut off, mid-tirade, as Rampage dunked him _again_. Cheetor made a valiant effort to rip the Pred into itty-bitty, ewwy-gooy pieces, before realizing, again, that he really wasn't getting anywhere fast.

When he stopped thrashing, Rampage lifted him up again, and chuckled, "Well? Are you done with the temper-tantrum, boy, or do you feel the need to vent some more?"

Cheetor glared at him and willed something terrible to happen to the Predicon right there and then. He was understandably disappointed when Rampage failed to spontaneously combust, or be suddenly diamanted by a strong gust of wind, or simply melt into a puddle of goop.

A stray though, a feeling of question so vague his processors couldn't even register it properly, suddenly popped into his head. Sullen and irritated that his mind was wandering (at the worst time, too), Cheetor mentally stomped on it in a fit of passionate, childish displeasure. His bitterness felt perfectly reasonable, thank-you-very-much.

Rampage laughed suddenly. It was bewildering; the situation was disturbing enough, _without _the psychopathic robosidal maniac laughing, on top of it. Rampage laughed and laughed, slouching down into the mud and bringing Cheetor with him. "Oh, you _are _amusing!" he managed.

"That's nice to know," Cheetor grunted, staining to keep his head out of the water as the crazy Predicon sank lower, "I've always been a fan of comedy."

Slowly, the Predicon managed to get a hold of himself, reduced to snickers as he lifted Cheetor back up. "What a bizarre child," he murmured, more to himself than Cheetor. Annoyed, Cheetor opened his mouth to retort, but Rampage interrupted him.

"Have you have heard of '_Hansel and Gretel_?'"

"What?" he asked, perplexed.

"'_Hansel and Gretel_?' It's a human story," Rampage informed him, "It's about two children who were lost in the woods. They came across a gingerbread house--"

"What's 'gingerbread'?"

Rampage paused, obviously startled by the innocent question; the honesty and lack of anger or fear seemed so out of _place_. He fumbled for an answer. "I... don't actually know," he told Cheetor, truthfully, "It's some kind of human foodstuff, I think."

"A _house_. Made out of stuff humans _eat_?" Cheetor reiterated, sceptically.

Rampage shrugged,"As I said, it _is _a human story; they rarely make sense in my experience."

"What do you know about humans?"

"_Please_," Rampage sighed, "I was created a Maximal; I still have basic Maximal programing."

"Including '_Hansel and Gretel_?'" Cheetor sure as pit didn't have any human stories preprogramed into _his _processor.

"Of course not. But, like all Maximals, yourself no doubt included, I was preprogrammed with basic knowledge concerning Autobot history, such as their interactions with humans and something on the nature of that species; they are a fluid, dynamic creature, with an inclination to violence, and they are constantly at war with _someone_. Naturally, I was curious about such a beast."

"_'Naturally_,'" Cheetor grumbled.

Rampage ignored him and continued, "It is _remarkable _how much you can learn about a race by examining their literature; humans have a number of stories meant to teach their younglings lessons, often by frightening them. These stories are called 'farie tales' and I'm quite fond of several of them. _'Hansel and Gretel' _seemed _wonderfully _appropriate for the situation.

You see, a witch lived in that foodstuff house and she lured the children in with fuel and sweets. Once they were fat on the feed, she carved them up and _ate _them."

_'Well, slag,' _Cheetor thought, '_that's fragged up_.' Did humans _really _tell their children stories about _cannibals_? Or maybe the story was meant to teach children to stay _away _from cannibals.

Rampages chuckled, lowly, and pulled Cheetor closer. "_You _wandered off, boy," The Predicon hissed, "and today I'm playing the _witch_."

The claws tightened on his hips and chest plates.

Rampage began to _pull_.

Cabled pulled taught, pistons strained, and his plating creaked in protest. Cheetor's vents heaved, trying to suck in more air, trying to cool his panicked systems. The pressure and the pain were unbearable. The cheetah turned his claws on the limbs holding him up, kicking violently with his back feet. Mech fluid welled up in the gouges he left behind in the red plating.

Rampage didn't even flinch.

Suddenly, something within his body broke with a loud _crack!_

Cheetor tried to scream in shock, in pain, but his vocalizer seized and all that escaped was a rattling hiss.

His support column must have snapped, Cheetor realized dully.

Through the haze of pain and shock, panic began to return, now in the company of fear and despair; that column was integral to his chassis' integrity, and his mobility. If it was broken he couldn't run, couldn't transform, couldn't fight back.

Rampage continued to pull, and, a moment later, two of Cheetor's main tension cables snapped, one after another. The recoil from the broken cables sent a bolt of agony through his frame.

Without the column and tension cables to hold him together, the strain moved on to his plating, pulling it tight.

His armor and some lines were the only things keeping Rampage from ripping him in two.

The realization kicked his processor back into gear. He stretched, pain shooting through his shoulders and chassis, dug his claws into Rampage's arm, just below the joint, and ripped the tender, sensor-riddled metal.

Rampage drew back suddenly, startled by the unexpected pain, and Cheetor splashed into the water as the Predicon released him. He immediately tried to get away. Servos and motors whined, pistons and small cables stained. His vented heaved struggling around the water clogging them.

But it was useless; without the support column or main tension cables, his frame lacked the necessary internal support to move properly. The small motors and pistons had no leverage; his limbs twitched, useless and clumsy.

Rampage laughed, incredulous and amused, before transforming into his root mode and picking Cheetor up again. "You know, it's very strange," the Predicon informed him, "most creatures stop struggling and give up after it becomes clear they can't win, but Cybertronians are a strange race; maybe animals just have more sense."

Cheetor bared his dentals, "_Prey _animals maybe!"

Rampage laughed again, "So what does that make you, cat? The hunter? The Big Bad Wolf?" Rampage took hold of his knee and leaned in close, mandibles pulled into a savage smile, "No, boy, you're not the hunter; you're not even the prey. I'll tell you what you are."

The Predicon's hand tightened viciously around his knee, then jerked sharply.

There was a muffled _'thunk' _as the pin broke and the joint came a part.

Cheetor stifled a cry; it escaped him as a whimper.

"You, sparkling, are the _bait_."

The little Maximal was struggling to stay online by now, so Rampage did the (arguably) kind thing, and forcibly brought him back around by snapping his ankle out of alignment.

The cat jerked, optics flaring for a moment before dimming in pain, and hissed something so low Rampage didn't catch it. Rampage hardly cared, though; he was having far too much fun.

Cheetor snarled and Rampage twisted his damaged leg, mercilessly. The snarl trailed into a whimper, and the youngling bit down on his lip component.

Rampage chuckled, delighted. He could _feel _the fear and pain and anger coming off the youngling in waves; it was intoxicating and sickly sweet, and he fed off it, eagerly.

The cat had some minor empathic ability, it seemed; Rampage could feel it, augmenting his own empathy, making that delicious pain and terror even stronger.

Such a shame that ability wasn't stronger.

A battle between two high-level empaths could have been a great deal of fun; imagine reading the anger and fear, hate and blood-lust off your opponent, _feeding _off each other, driving one's own feelings stronger and stronger, pushing both combatants into a frenzy.

Alas, there was few such opponents to be found in the universe now days. The Autobots and their sub-fractions had not the knowledge or history to train such 'bots, and the Decpticons, despite their scouring, found fewer and fewer gifted mechs in each generation.

Telepaths were, and always had been, the most common, and the last great telepath, the mighty Decepticon Soundwave himself, had long along departed the battle field...

Such a waste, though Rampage supposed there was little to be done for it.

A ping registered on his sensors, and Rampage found those depressing thoughts chased from his processor; after all, who frowns when their favorite playmate is in such a hurry to join them?

And Depth Charge was certainly in a hurry. In fact, he was arriving much more quickly than Rampage had predicted. However, it was obviously for the best; Rampage had had just enough time to torment and unnerve the cat. Depth Charge would arrive to find him waiting with a badly damaged, incapacitated Cheetor lying at his feet, and have to face the fact that he was mere millicycles too late (yet again) to protect a mech who'd needed him.

Better still that Depth Charge considered the youngling a friend.

He couldn't wait to see the look on Depth Charge's face.

When Cheetor didn't reply Depth Charge began to truly worry; the cat had either run into one of Megatron's jamming zones (which was unlikely) or he'd been caught by X (which was all too likely).

He pushed even harder, propulsion systems roaring with the strain, fighting for speed. His vents were flared wide and his pumps were working double time.

Could he afford more speed? He wouldn't be any use to anyone if he exhausted himself before he arrived, and was too tired to fight X.

'_The kid's fast,_' he told himself, '_He'll avoid X. He'll keep avoiding X long enough for me to get there. He's just too busy playing keep-away to transmit anything._'

His reasoning wasn't nearly as convincing as he'd hoped; the triple-changer had known the young racer to hold up whole conversations during fights, exchanging jokes with Primal or snarking right back at Rattrap.

A quiet Cheetor was quiet often a Cheetor in trouble.

His outlook grew even bleaker as he realized that the ground rushing by below him was becoming wet and marshy.

A swamp.

A place well suited to his flying alt. mode or Rampage's beast mode, not small cat-feet or long sinewy legs.

And if X did have Cheetor...

And angry, desperate part of his processors protested; he shouldn't care. He couldn't afford to care.

Cheetor was just another mech. A stranger really; how long had he known him? So, what if he'd saved Depth Charge from Dinobot II, from Megatron, from X, that night after becoming a transmetal? Depth Charge had saved him the first day they'd met, dragging Cheetor up from the bottom of the bay.

An optic-for-an-optic, it just meant they were even.

He was just another unknown mech, who didn't own Depth Charge anything and vice versa.

Shouldn't X be his focus? Revenge for all the mechs left dead in his path?

Cheetor was just another mech, but during the time he'd known him, Depth Charge had attached a name to that face plate.

What if X killed Cheetor today? He'd become another of those dead mechs who needed avenging.

So, really, he supposed he was suppose to care.

It was a realization that both relieved and terrified him.

But he didn't have any more time for speculation; he could see X now, a blot of red and purple against the muted green and brown of the swamp.

Cheetor was hanging limply from X's massive hands.

He saw motion and the knot in his spark loosened a little; dead mechs don't lift their heads to see the source of the noise.

He switched out of his , setting down several meters from X and Cheetor, splashing water and mud.

"How _nice _of you to join us!" X greeted him, "We were worried you'd _never _get here." Then he grabbed one of Cheetor's ankles, tightly. Cheetor flinched.

The youngling was in bad shape; there was obvious structural damage, his cooling systems were so over-worked Depth Charge could hear them whistling, and his optics were dim.

Noticing Depth Charge's focus, X held Cheetor up a little higher, presenting him for the Maximal's scrutiny.

"Let him go, X" Depth Charge replied, voice flat and low, refusing to be baited.

X's smile was mockingly coy, "But we were having _so much fun_; I _like _children." Then he tightened his grip even more and wrenched Cheetor's leg sharply. Depth Charge heard the loud _'POP!_' as the pin broke and the youngling's ankle joint was pulled apart.

Cheetor's optics flared to life, before he shuttered them tightly and his grit his dentals, but the youngling didn't make a sound.

Depth Charge snarled, hand flying to his blaster. After a moment, he schooled himself to calm, but couldn't keep the edge out of his voice, "Let him go. It's _our _game, creep! I'm the one you want to play against."

"Yes, our game," X replied, smiling fondly. "You know, most creatures learn things when playing games." He changed his grip on Cheetor and held the youngling to his chest plate in a parody of gentleness. One massive hand closed around Cheetor's neck, squeezing just slightly. Cheetor's harsh panting increased and the vents along his chest and flanks opened wider, trying to expelled the heat emitted from his damaged systems.

The other hand moved down to Cheetor's hip and _tap, tap, tap_ped a claw against Maximal's spark chamber.

Cheetor gasped in terror, optics wide and frightened.

Depth Charge stiffened, because (_Oh, Primus, PLEASE!_) he'd seen that happen to too many mechs.

X's smile stretched into a cruel grin, "I thought you'd learned not to hesitate."

Then he _pressed_.

The pistons in Rampage's arm and hand whined and the cover of the chamber began to tremble under the pressure, warping. Cheetor tried to get away, but he couldn't do a damn thing against the monster.

And, for a second, another mech was in Cheetor's place.

_They were back in that hallway, and the air was full of dust and the smell of mech fluid again._

_Broken concrete, blasted from the walls, and twisted pieces of steel were scattered across the floor, among the bodies of the mechs of Colony Omicron. And Rampage was across from him, a young Maximal guard caught in his massive tormenting hands._

_It was an old, haunting memory._

_It had been the first time he'd ever seen Project X._

_He said, "You can still stop this."_

_X had made a bitter, enraged sound. "This _never _should have happened! You're a Peace Martial! How could you let them do this?"_

_At the time, Depth Charged hadn't known who or what X was. He hadn't known about the experiments that had been tantamount to torture or the immortal, twisted spark thundering under those chest plates._

_It still didn't excuse what X had done._

_Depth Charge barely had time to react as one of X's massive hands swung at the younger mech's chassis, right above his spark chamber._

_The plating buckled. Wires snapped as they were caught on torn metal. The Maximal opened his mouth to scream--_

"_Let him go!_" Depth Charge was moving before he was aware of it; the memory had sent a surge through him, demanding action.

Rampage threw Cheetor aside, abandoning his toy in favor of his play mate, and seized hold of the Maximal. They toppled, carried down by Depth Charge's momentum, thrashing and struggling in the water and the mud.

Despite the stench of the swamp, Depth Charge could smell singed metal and fresh mech fluids, and couldn't hear the noise of the fight over X's laughter.

When Rampage threw him, Cheetor had landed on his damaged leg.

He lay there a moment, half sunk in the water and mud, unable to move.

_Why?_ Seriously. _Why_ did the universe seem to hate him? Couldn't it satisfy its sadistic streak with Waspinator and leave him alone?

He issued a command to his CPU, trying to turn off his aching, screaming sensors. His systems pinged him back with dozens of errors and problems. Cheetor moaned in displeasure.

He could hear Depth Charge grappling with Rampage and raised his head (an epic feat in itself) and _wow _they were a _lot _closer than he had thought.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn't want to be caught in a fight between those two; he definitely didn't want to get trampled in his current state.

Funny, after becoming a larger transmetal, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be a minibot; he sure as pit remembered now.

He took a quick stock of his situation; he couldn't use his right leg at all, his left knee and tail were both dislocated, and his internal chassis supports were bent. He couldn't stand, let alone transform, and even if he could, he'd be chest plate deep in water.

His arms worked at least.

Barely.

"Aw, _slag_!" he groaned.

More than just the wide range of the fight around the two grappling mechs, Cheetor had another reason to get clear of them; the palpable dread that had settled into his tanks earlier had changed from a panic-inducing, terrified fog to a lead weight deep in his tanks, leeching poison into his lines. It would have been enough to make him panicky and nervous on it's own.

He wiggled a foreleg out of the muck, ignoring the sharp pangs that rippled through his side in response, and dragged himself forward, away from the two combatants. For all his effort, Cheetor moved very little, so he stubbornly pulled forward again; cowardly as it was, he would do just about anything to avoid Rampage's large, cruel claws.

He completely understood why the guy freaked Silverbolt out so much.

Rampage was a sadist, who viewed himself as just another monster in a world full of monsters trying to behave as though they were civil, tame and honorable; everything society wanted them to be. Rampage thought he was being honest.

It was a thought that frightened him.

Especially because he kind of understood Rampage's point of view.

Behind him, Cheetor heard the distinct _click _and whine of one of Depth Charge's 'power pizzas' (honestly, what was he supposed to call them?), followed by a startled yelp and an angry snarl.

Praying that meant Depth Charge had the upper hand, Cheetor attempted to push himself up and see what was happening.

Then he glitched. His processor was struggling through all with warnings and errors, causing him to lock up. Cheetor's fore legs lost strength and he collapsed. For a panicky moment, his optics switched off and his audials were filled with static, and he struggled to stay out of stasis lock.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to come back around, but Cheetor managed to remain conscious. However, just as his optics were clearing, Rampage's foot came down dangerously close to his face and scared the slag out of him.

Before he could make a sound, Rampage's foot and the rest of Rampage were gone, as Depth Charge tackled him. That seemed to be enough for Rampage; the Predicon kicked Depth Charge off, flipped into his beast mode, and, sported several large dents and a mangled leg (what was that human saying Rhinox was so fond of? Oh yeah; payback's a bitch), plunged beneath the swamp water and scuttled away.

Depth Charge made an angry sound and half lunged after the Pred, before stopping himself, glaring at the place where Rampage had last been.

A shaky _whoosh _of air escaped Cheetor's vents, and his tense, aching frame relaxed a little.

Depth Charge came over to him and gave him the once over. Depth Charge didn't have a particularly _expressive _face, but Cheetor didn't miss the wince.

"How're you holding up, kid?"

Cheetor tried to lift his head and failed, so he settled for a small and petulant, "_I want to go home._"


	5. Last One Standing

*Whistles Blind Mag's song*

What do you mean, I _disappeared for four months_? It was only three and a half.

Shorter chapter this time, I'm afraid. It gave me a lot of trouble for some reason. In any case, we're back to Blackarchnia and Silverbolt for this one. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter; it seems to be lacking _something_, but I really wanted to get it up.

Quickstrike and Inferno were fun to write :)

Quick shout-outs:

Thank you very much, **Decepticon Fan**, for the kind words and encouragement. I'm glad the last chapter cheered you up, so, here! Have another one :)

About time, indeed, huh **Katestar98**? No Cheetor yet, but he and Depth Charge are back, center-stage, next chapter. Hopefully this chapter will tie you over? :P

Thanks a lot **Starfire201**! I'm glad you like Rampage; he's usually a lot more fun to write than I first thought he'd be. Have a new chapter and a cyber-cookie, _'Real-Life' Free_ (with 0 Trans Fats) ;)

Thank you ** Black Oracle**, for the wonderful compliment; hearing that made grin just a little wider.

And a big hug for **Mith**, who's stuck around through a lot of this mess of a story, and who's review always made me smile. Yes, we'll be seeing more about the empaths/telepaths and the clairvoyant cheetah in the future. Glad you like the 'Civil Monster' bit; I'm having a lot of fun with the idea.

To everybody new, Welcome!

To everybody returning, Welcome back!

Enjoy the next chapter of _Civil Monsters._

_~Donna_

* * *

Disclaimer: If I had a handy-dandy time-machine, I could rig the future so I _could_ say "_Copyright; Donna Noble_." But, apparently, that's against the rules... _Darn._

* * *

Chapter 5: Last One Standing

**Jack O'Neill**: Sounds more like a plan _"F"_, doesn't it? As in, "We are totally _fu-_!"

~_Stargate: Atlantis, '_

* * *

When the gun fire cut out, the Maximal base was chillingly quiet.

No voices.

No radio chatter.

No reassuring hail from Rhinox.

Silverbolt and Blackarachnia shared a look.

'I should be out there,' Sliverbolt nearly whispered.

'Don't you _dare_!' the femme hissed, forcefully.

'But-!' he cut himself off and looked even more distraught.

'Look, Bowser. If Rhinox _were_ dead, Megatron would be crowing it to high heaven. If Megatron _we're_ simply aiming to destroy us and the base, he wouldn't try for such subtlety. He's up to something and I don't know what it is and that _bothers_ me!' She drew heavily through her intakes, and heaved a frustrated sigh. 'What we need to do is get to the _Ark_, and keep it in one piece until the cavalry arrives.'

Sliverbolt looked even more dismal, torn between helping his team and saving their timeline, but he nodded. 'I should be helping him,' he said solemnly.

She punched him lightly on the chassis. He nearly fell over. Blackarachnia pursed her lip components, trying to not smile, and told him, 'You're not fully repaired and you probably couldn't fly straight to save your lazarcore. You're _not_ going up against Megs and his Preds anytime soon.'

Silverbolt looked at her in faint shock, then the expression mellowed into something shamefaced, 'You... are right-'

'Of course I'm right,' she interrupted, 'I'm a femme; I'm always right.'

Silverbolt smiled dryly, 'Always, my love.'

Blackarachnia smile savagely for a moment before turning and grabbing the provisions she'd gathered up. The smile turned sober; there wasn't much, just a few medical supplies, some energon rations, a spare blaster. One of Rattrap's to be specific; compact, durable, surprisingly heavy, and defiantly lacking the punch of some of the larger Maxamal's weapons.

Well, thank Primus for the _Ark_'s defenses.

"Okay 'Bolt, let's get moving before Megs sends someone big and nasty after us." _Like Tarantulas._ Blackarachnia shuddered, scowling; she wasn't about to let that depraved lunatic get under her plating when he wasn't even present.

She started purpose in the direction of the _Ark_, and Silverbol wobbled along behind her, finding it difficult to keep up.

They had time, she assured herself. _Teletraan_'s defenses were impressive, and she and Rhinox had been working to improve them; Megatron would need to get through the _Ark_'s revamped defenses before he could even try getting inside.

The only ones who knew those access codes were herself, Primal and...

Oh, _slag_.

She stopped dead for a moment, staring hollowly ahead.

Rhinox.

_Rhinox_ knew the codes and, now, Megatron had him. If they hacked his memory banks (not easy, but possible), well, so much for the revamped systems.

Still, Rhinox had personally modified and written his own firewalls. BA had seen his code work and had been impressed; the engineer was a very good programmer. If Megatron did try to hack him, it would take time.

If she got there quickly enough...

"Silverbolt, I know you're not feeling too hot, but we need to get moving right _now_," she told the fuzor, gripping his arm and pulling it over her shoulders, 'Just try not to fall, alright?"

She started off again, not quite running. Running meant panic, and Blackarachnia did not panic.

Early in the Great War, gathering intelligence had been easy enough for the Decepticons; an undercover agent would brake into an autobots quarters (usually under the guise of visiting a friend), drug the autobot and hack their memory banks while they recharged, unable to consciously bolster their defenses.

The Autobots had caught on fairly quickly, and took precautions to make hacking more difficult.

By the time of the beastformers, both fractions had further perfected their mental defenses.

A fact Megatron now took time to curse; here he had Rhinox, the _Axion_'s chief-engineer, one of Prinal's oldest and dearest friends, helpless at his mercy, and he _couldn't do slag_.

"Once a mech is in stasislocked, they're impossible to hack," grumbled Tarantulas. The scientist _seemed_ to be talking to himself, but on the too-likely chance he was talking back, Megatron pointedly loomed over the smaller Predicon.

"I _know _that, you fool," he hissed. "I meant, if we have the equipment available, we could disarm him, restrain him and returned to hack him after, once he's back online." Megatron's mouth pulled into a mocking smile and he added, "Do I need to say it again more slowly?"

Tarantulas hissed angrily but after a long moment of restrained fury, he nodded, "We have restraints. And disarming him is less '_master plan_' than '_common sense_'." The spider's tone went from faintly mocking to haughty, "And while your... little plan... _is_ plausible, I doubt it will actually work. The new weapon I made you is designed to first knock higher processor functions offline, leaving them completely inaccessible. To everyone. Hacking him now is _impossible_."

Megatron snorted, "Ah, my dear Tarantulas, _nothing is impossible_."

The information was _still_ there, harder to access, true, but not lost. There was a difference between 'difficult' and 'impossible' that Tarantulas seemed to have trouble grasping.

But Megatron refused to let the infernal spider spoil his good mood; the situation with Rhinox had not done his plan any harm, and so _was not_ a set back. It was merely an opportunity which, unfortunately, Megatron couldn't take advantage of.

A shame, true, but something he could easily address later, particularly if he won.

Besides if it came down to it, hacking Rhinox would probably by more difficult than hacking _Teletraan-1_.

* * *

Quickstrike was enjoying himself; they'd got to blast some Maximals, would get to blast some more Maximals soon and, once the Maximals were all done, they'd get to blast some Autobots!

First though, they had to get Sugarbot and her beau, that glitched, sweet-talking, sorry excuse for a want-to-be Aerialbot, Silverbolt.

What a sissy. Honestly, Quickstrike didn't know what BA saw in the other Fusor.

"Quickstrike!" barked Inferno, sharply, "Are you even paying attention?"

Just to spite him, the minibot smugly replied, "Nope."

The soldier frowned, drawing himself up, radiating disapproval and long-suffered patience. "Quickstrike," the ant began in a tone of voice usually reserved for younglings who weren't smart enough to realize they were misbehaving. "_We _have work to do. The Queen wants us to find the traitor and the Maximal fuzor. If you don't start paying attention, the traitor and the Maximal fuzor will _shoot _you. Again. Do you _want _that to happen?"

"Stop talking like I'm a sparklin'!"

"Stop _acting _like a sparkling."

"No, and you _can't_ make me!"

Inferno put his hands on his hips, "You are _infuriating_."

Quickstrike grinned, "I know."

Inferno sighed, shook his head and turned away. "Come, Quickstrike. The Royalty is waiting. We have Maximals to hunt!"

"_Whoohoo!_"

Inferno sniffed, drawing air over his ofactory sensors. Quickstrike did the same, tasting the air.

Blackarachnia and Silverbolt had been through, recently, and the trail lead right under the looming bulk of the _Ark_.

As much as Quickstrike enjoyed the hunt, he didn't like being anywhere near the Autobot ship; there was something about it that got under his circuits and set lead in his fuel tank.

"They're close," Inferno said, following his nose. "Let's go, Quickstrike!"

"_Blah!_" Quickstrike replied, grimacing, "'Course they had to go and hide under the slaggin' Ark. That ship gives me the heeby-jeebies, 'Ferny."

"After today, there will no longer be any reason to fear it," the ant replied, turning the corner. Then he pointed, excited. "There they are! Traitors, prepare to die!" And abruptly the calm, collected mech Quickstrike had been joking with was replaced by a raving, fanatical nutcase with a flame-thrower.

Well, if you can't beat 'em...

Quickstrike whooped, cheering, "_Got ya now!_"

The two Maximals were standing beside the _Ark_. Silverbolt was watching them with mild apprehension. Blackarachnia had a control panel open, working with buttons and indicator lights as large as her head. She didn't even look at them, instead heaving an irritated sigh as she continued to press buttons. "Why hasn't _Teletraan __**shot **_you yet?"

Quickstrike snickered.

"Well?" the femme barked, "Why not?"

There didn't seem to be any harm in telling them now; after all, he and Inferno were the one with weapons ready. "Well, Sugarbot," and here the minibot femme growled, optics still on the panel, jabbing at the controls with more force than necessary, "Tarantulas might be a yellow-bellied _snake _of a Pred, but he does whip up some fun little gadgets now and then."

Blackarachnia paused, half-turning to glance at them, "Gadgets, huh? The computers haven't picked you up at all. It's something to hide your spark-signature, right?"

"Got it in one, honey."

"Alright. I see. That's why _Teletraan _doesn't know you're there."

"Yep. You're on your own, Maxies!" he jeered.

"Cease your typing, Traitor!" barked Inferno, leveling his flame-thrower with Blackarachnia's head.

Silverbolt step in front of her, wings half flared, growling.

"Aww, ain't that sweet." Quickstrike snorted, "I just might haveta purge my tank now."

"I've got it, Bowser," Blackarachnia muttered, "Stop worrying."

"Got what?" demanded Inferno.

Suddenly, the _Ark_'s guns whirled to life, emerging from behind the ship's plating, pointing at them. The Predicons froze, staring in disbelief. "Aw, _slag_. Yer _kidding_?" Quickstrike ventured.

The bay door behind the Maximals opened, and Blackarchnia made a show of dusting her claws off.

"Not kidding, _Sugar_," she told him, smirking, "_Teletraan _couldn't see you so I told it where you were. It's not overly precise, but..."

The _Ark _opened fire on them, blasting the entire area. The blast threw them both.

Quickstrike landed first. He broke Inferno's fall.

"...Well, you get the picture," Blackarachnia finished, shrugging at the now-absent Predicons. "Come on, 'Bolt," she said, tipping her head towards the open bay-doors, "We've got work to do."

* * *

"Blackarchnia?" Silverbolt asked, still frowning, "Quickstrike mentioned... a, uh, 'gadget'? You said it had to do with their spark-signatures?"

"_Mmmhmm_." The femme set the bundle of supplies on the floor, and heaved a sigh, "Yeah, I just thinking about that; it makes an unfortunate amount of sense. Something to mask spark-signatures, probably small so they can carry it with them. It explains why the security-systems didn't pick them up and why the _Ark _didn't fire on them; far as the sensors were concerned, they weren't there."

"For all intents and purposes, invisible Predicons?" he asked, warily.

"Invisible Predicons," she agreed.

It was his turn to sigh, examining the closed bay doors behind him. "I would that our 'cavalry' arrived, my dear," Silverbolt groaned, taking a seat on a piece of broken, dusty equiptment.

"Might be a while," she grumbled. Silverbolt looked at her questioningly. "Rattrap and Rhinox are down for the count, the kid's on patrol, who knows where Fish-face is, and Primal left base a while ago." She paused for moment, "I bet you Megatron was waiting for Primal to leave before attacking."

Silverbolt cocked his head, frowning, "Why did Optimus leave?" He'd still been in the CR chamber, and obviously hadn't gotten the computer update.

"I don't know; the main computer pinged me that he was leaving the base. Betchya Rhinox _would _have told us why," she added, sourly.

"So Optimus, Cheetor and Depth Charge are all free. Can we watch the base from in here?"

"With the security-cameras, yeah; most of the computer systems have feeds into _Teletraan _just in case something like this ever happened."

Silverbolt chuckled dryly, "You and Rhinox prepared for the unlikely-but-plausible event we would be out-numbered by invisible Predicons and have to fight them from within the _Ark_?"

She shrugged, smiling a little, "Horn-head's a real pessimist." After a moment she added, "So am I... I was just thinking, if the others worked together, they'd have a pretty decent chance of kicking Megatron's tail." Silverbolt opened his mouth, looking faintly hopeful. Blackarchnia held up a claw to cut him off, "Key word there was '_together_.' Any of them on their own is probably slagged."

Silverbolt seemed to deflate, slumping, "And what are the chances of all three of our comrades returning at once?"

"Pretty slim," she told him honestly.

The fuzor bit his lower lip component, "And our chances of radioing them a warning?"

"Almost as bad." She snorted, "Of course, distance communications is the one system no one could ever get to work on this slagging mudball of a planet."

"Do I want to know what their chances of victory are if they returned to base one at a time?"

"No; it would only spoil your good mood."

They stood there for a moment, mulling over the unpleasant situation. Then Blackarchnia drew a deep, bracing vent of air, standing up straight again. "Come on, Bowser. We've got to get the cameras working before the _rest _of them get here."

"Yes, of course," he responded, shaking himself a little. "Where is the nearest monitoring station?"

"Right down the hall. Well," she amended, "it's really just an access point for the mechs working down here to interact with _Teletraan-1_, but Rhinox MacGuyvered something when we were updating the defenses. Follow me."

He did, adding, "My love, while I'm very glad for the updated defenses at the moment, I'm surprised that you and Rhinox risked putting such advancements into the _Ark_. Wouldn't it interfere with the timeline?"

"Don't worry; we thought of that. The codes are set to delete themselves in 1982 A.D. two solar-cycles before these guys wake up."

She ushered him into the utility room, briefly very glad Rhinox had had the foresight to leave it open; either of them really felt like climbing to wall to reach the door-controls.

She examined the monitors and equipment she and Rhinox had left in the _Ark _the last time they'd been here. They were already hooked up to _Teletraan-1_, and she accessed the _Ark _security system and the cameras around the Maximals' base.

The screen flickered to life and she swore.

"What's wrong?" Silverbolt asked.

She shoved the monitor, grindingly, across the floor until it was in front of him. His optics widened briefly, and he added softly, "Oh, I see." Of course, Megatron wouldn't waste time in getting here.

Tarantulas was already working on the control panel.

And, judging by the _Ark_'s lack of reaction, _Teletraan-1_ still couldn't detect them.

"Watch them," Blackarchnia told the fuzor, "tell me if they do anything." Then she grabbed for one of the tablets wired into the terminal. A few quick commands, and it was showing her Tarantulas' work at the door. Silverbolt glanced at the display; most of the coding was beyond him, but what little he did understand didn't look promising. "Tarantulas has already gotten past the first layer of security," Blackarchnia told him, "and he's working on the next... Oh, _no _you _don't_," the technician growled.

Silverbolt watched her access _Teletraan-1_ and began inputting commands, writing them onto the screen of the tablet almost faster than the tablet could translate. She told the computer where to shoot and not to save it's ammunition.

On the monitor, Silverbolt saw a hail of plasma fire rain down on the Predicons. Megatron's armor was scorched, and Quickstrike was sent soaring. Tarantulas stuck _something _to the control panel before diving behind the nearest rock.

"Blackarchnia?" he called, a little unsure of interrupting her, "Tarantulas placed... Something on the control panel."

"What?" she asked, not looking up.

"I'm not sure," he replied, not at all miffed; he was far too use to how she worked to be insulted by her lack of attention. "It's a black device, with several lights on it. He's hung it from the control panel."

Now she looked up, frowning, "Wait. What?" She scrambled over and he turned the monitor so she could see it more easily. She eyed the image suspiciously, before announcing, "I _don't _know what that is and I _don't _like it."

She grabbed her tablet again, searching through the read outs, flicking her stylus over the screen. Then she snarled a soft, "oh, _that bastard!_" and began to scribble furiously.

"Blackarchnia? Tell me what I can do." Silverbolt sincerely hope there was something he could do; programming wasn't his strong suit.

She glanced at him, mouth tight, looking vaguely worried. "Think you can handle a blaster without shooting yourself?"

"What do you need?"

"That _thing_," she jabbed at the black device displayed on the screen viciously, "is hacking _my _security, and I can't return the favor; it needs some kind of manual input. I can't just shoot it; the _Ark _is programmed _not _to shoot at itself, because the bigger guns can punch through the ship's hull. I don't know _why _that command was applied to the little guns, but_ it is!_" she grumbled, sulking for a moment. "I don't have time to re-program the defense protocols. We need to destroy it, _manually_."

Which meant going outside. The fusor's mouth tightened, and he nodded, grimly, "Very well."

"It gets better," she added, bitingly, "That _thing _is messing with the guns. Resetting them. I have to kept telling them to fire or they stop."

He sighed, "And we can't risk that; we don't have the firepower to keep the Predicon's out otherwise." He stood up and hefted the small blaster off the floor where Blackarchnia had left it with the rest of their supplies.

"Sorry," she said softly.

"Don't apologize." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Keep _them _safe."

The Autobots were their pasts _and _futures.

She nodded.

Heartened, he turned away, checking the blaster's powercells.

"Got your back," Blackarchnia added.

He shot her a smile, "I know."

And he was gone

* * *

It was hungry, _still _so _hungry_, but had found nothing to satisfy.

The cavern had provided it with shelter, but with shelter came noise,_ noise, noise!_

_Talking, shouting, screaming._

There were no words, at least none it understood, and yet the sounds called to curiosity.

Following the sounds lead it to heat and motion and _others_.

_Unwelcome others_, in _its _shelter.

One does not enter the territory of another uninvited. The Unwelcome had to be dealt with.

* * *

Blackarchnia waited for Silverbolt's hail. It seemed to take _so long_, but less than a cycle later the fuzor's voice crackled over the comm.s, "I'm at the bay doors."

"Right." She gave herself a shake, and began working on the tablet again, "Just get me a click to get you some breathing room." A few brisk commends and the guns outside the door swept the area with lazar and plasma fire. On the monitor, the Predicon's drew further back.

She keyed in the access code for the doors. "Alright, 'Bowser," she radioed back, "Made it fast and _don't _get shot."

He chucked, dryly, "I'll made an effort."

Then she heard shooting.

Blackarchnia turned to the monitor.

Silverbolt was standing just inside the door, pressed against the wall to avoid potential fire. A good thing, too, because as the doors opened, the Predicons opened fire on the _Ark_, probably hoping to score a lucky hit on one of the guns or on whoever was standing in the doors.

Pinned by the enthusiastic fire, Silverbolt her again, sounding tired, "You do realize I have to get _outside _to destroy Tarantulas' device?"

"Yeah, 'Bolt," she responded, "I know."

"And you are _sure _that you can't control the _Ark's _defenses into doing it?"

"Yeah, 'Bolt, I'm sure."

He sighed, "Yes, I thought so. Wish me luck?"

"I'd better not; it'd probably jinx you. Go get 'em, Bowser."

She heard him draw a deep vent. Then, on the monitor, the fuzor leaned out from his hiding spot, snapped forward a wing and fired. The ground to the left of the Predicon's hiding place exploded, encouraging them to stay _put_.

Seizing the chance, Silverbolt lunged forward, pointing his borrowed blaster at the control panel.

A lazar blast streaked past him, and Silverbolt had to jump back.

Megatron was firing at him.

"_Don't you dare!_" Blackarchnia snapped at the absent Predicon leader. She prompted the guns to focus on him for a moment. Megatron dove back behind cover, but not before she caught a glimpse of satisfying horror on his faceplates. "_Ha!_ Stupid slagger!"

And just as her good mood was setting in, someone (she thought it was Dinobot II, but wasn't sure) blasted one of the guns. _That _seemed to give the Preds more courage.

She Silverbolt again, "Will you just hurry up and _shoot _that thing, and get _back in here!_"

"Believe me, I'm- _Great Cybertron!_"

"_What?_" Not waiting for an answer, she searched the screen.

"It's Rattrap!"

It _was_ Rattrap and he was currently hanging off Tarantulas' back, beating and clawing at the Predicon's shoulders and helm. She felt a vicious sort of glee in seeing anyone beating up Tarantulas, but she didn't have time for indulgence right now; the Preds looked like they were finally getting their wits together.

"Silverbolt, _shoot _that thing and both of you get _inside!_"

On the screen, the fuzor turned, lifted the small blaster, and took two shots. The hacking device exploded in a shower of sparks and circuitry.

She saw Megatron make a frustrated motion with his servos, all but stomping his foot, and Blackarchnia smirked in satisfaction.

Then the other gun was blown off its turret.

She cursed.

Over the radio, she heard Silverbolt come as close to swearing as she ever heard him, franticly calling to Rattrap.

She tried to hail the spy over the comm.s but there was no reply.

Tarantulas final got a grip on the rat and threw him off. He hit the ground in a heap, tumbled, then, with a little encouraging fire from the Preds, booked it for the open door of the _Ark_. Silverbolt grabbed him and threw him into the bay, laying some coverfire.

Blackarchnia signaled the doors to close, but it was a click too late; there was a flash on screen as Megatron's pluse canon fired, and Silverbolt yelped, the radios squealing with feed-back.

"Silverbolt? Are you okay?"

Distantly she heard the heavy doors close and lock. The radio was silent.

"Rattrap? Can you _hear _me? Is he _okay?_"

Again, nothing.

"_Slaggit all!_" She jumped up, leaving her equiptment behind, and tore out of the room. Down the hall, both mechs were lying on the floor. Rattrap looked dazed, slowly pushing himself up.

Silverbolt wasn't moving.

The femme practically threw herself to the floor beside him, searching for damage. His spark-signature was strong. His vents were working. He was singed and a little dented, but he seemed fine.

She groaned in relief, her head slumping to meet is chest plates with a _clang_. She thumped a fist against his shoulder weakly, voice muffled, "Don't _ever _to that to me again, you half-bit reject."

Something moved behind her and she belatedly remembered she wasn't alone.

She lifted her head with a groan. "If you say _anything_, I'll kill you. _Slowly_," she threatened, turning to face the smaller minibot.

Rattrap didn't say anything, rubbing at his face plates as he wobbled to his peds.

Blackarchnia paused " Hey? You okay, 'Trap?" she stood up, taking a step towards him.

Rattrap's head snapped around to her and he hissed.

Blackarchnia stopped.

His optics were white.

"_Aw, frag_," she moaned.


End file.
